Beautiful World
by Profe
Summary: Benson is fed up with everything. The world around him is falling apart and he thinks, maybe, that's exactly how it should be. That is, until someone decides to change that, but will they be able to save him in time?
1. Comes and Goes

**Hey all! I decided to write an RS fanfic. I've been like extra mad and annoyed lately so I'm putting those feels into a fic. Also, if you didn't figure it out, the characters are all HUMANS in this fic! Imagine them how you want, haha, but they are human! I couldn't find a good chapter human fic of them o:**

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Benson put the cigarette between his lips, quickly lighting it as he let out a curse. He was so fed up with Mordecai and Rigby. It didn't matter how many times he'd yell at them to get back to work; it was like they didn't even care. He wondered what they would do if he really fired them, but sometimes he thought he couldn't go through with it. There were those very rare times where they did something to make him feel better, or for his sake. Albeit, he couldn't think of any off of the top of his head, but he was sure there were some.

He took a long drag of the cigarette and slowly exhaled, rubbing his temples. He was supposed to have quit, but he really didn't see how that was a current possibility. It took all he had not to blow up at everyone in the park just that day. He was sick of it, but it was just how he was. No amount of therapy was going to change that. That didn't mean he hadn't tried, of course. He'd spent money on three different therapists in the past year and his problem hadn't become any less of a problem.

He leaned against the fence that had recently been built around the house and stared up at the sky. It was bright out; a warm summer day, and even though the atmosphere was cheerful and everyone else was in good spirits, he couldn't be happy. He was far too depressed.

"I knew I'd find you here," a hoarse voice came from behind him.

"Shit," Benson whispered to himself. He didn't want to turn around and face the other man. He didn't want to get lectured; not again. "What are you doing out here?" he held the cigarette between his index and middle finger, not wanting to put it out. All he wanted was to take another drag, but he knew he would only get that disappointed sigh in response.

"Looking for you."

"Well, here I am," Benson replied awkwardly, sliding his hand down in front of the fence.

"Are you..." the taller man came closer to the fence, peering over and noticing the lit cigarette. He let out a sigh. "You are."

"So what?" Benson pushed himself away from the fence. "It's not like it affects you, Skips!"

"I thought you quit."

Benson took a long drag of the cigarette. He didn't want to get mad; didn't want to explode. Not at Skips. He hadn't done anything wrong. All these bottled feelings were toward everyone else. It was everyone else that wouldn't leave him alone; wouldn't listen to his orders.

"I'll take that as a no," his voice was quieter, almost as if he knew his boss was trying extra hard just to keep quiet. "Did you try the gum?"

"Of course I tried it," he mumbled. It wasn't the same, though. He turned to face his employee with a stern look, "Get back to work, Skips."

"I'm on my break."

If there was one thing that annoyed Benson about the light haired man, it was his responses. Sometimes they could be so short, so emotionless that he didn't know what to do with them. He wanted to yell or kick something, but when he thought about the look Skips would give him if he did... he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He thought it was because he respected Skips and in turn, he wanted to be respected by him, but when he was alone in his office, sipping from his coffee mug, sometimes he thought it was more than that.

When he was alone, he often had a lot of time to think about things he'd rather not think about.

"Benson, give me the pack," Skips held his hand out over the fence expectantly.

He wanted to scoff, but part of him also wanted to comply. He knew he was ruining his lungs, but he couldn't be bothered to care when people like Mordecai or Rigby were around. "I'm your boss. I give you orders. Not the other way around," he said. "I'm... tired, so jut go back to work."

Skips sighed, running a hand through his snow white hair. The sun felt hot on his light skin and he often wondered if it was okay for him to run around without a shirt on. Mordecai and Rigby often joked about how it brought a lot of females to the park, although that wasn't his intention. Summers were just too hot for him, coming from a place that was nearly always cold. He did was he could to cool down.

When his attention was brought back by a high pitched scream that could only belong to Rigby, he noticed Benson was nowhere in sight. He must have run off. Skips looked to the side where Mordecai and Rigby were driving the cart in squiggly lines, laughing and screaming like it was the most fun they'd ever had. He hopped over the fence and made his way over to them. "Guys," he said as they pulled the cart to a stop.

"Hey, Skips, what's up?" Mordecai said.

"Aren't you two supposed to be mowing the grass?"

"Aw, don't rag on us," Rigby complained. "We'll get to it. We're just taking a break."

"Yeah," Mordecai laughed.

Skips could understand why Benson constantly yelled at them. "Look, why don't you guys just go back to work and then we'll all go out for ice cream later. My treat."

"Whoa, you mean it?" Rigby's eyes were sparkling.

"Yeah," he answered. He knew the only way to get them to do their jobs was to give them incentives. It wasn't like it cost him much to buy a few ice cream cones, watermelon or other form of snack every now and then and if it was able to make Benson's work load lighter, he was glad to.

"To the fields!" Rigby shot his hand up.

"Yeah-yuh!" Mordecai yelled, swiftly turning the cart around and driving back toward the garage to fetch the lawnmower.

Skips turned around and walked up the stairs, pushing open the house door and glancing inside. It was clean, for once and he suspected Benson had gotten tired of asking Mordecai and Rigby and had just done it himself. He wished the redhead would rely on him a little more in times like those.

He planned to head upstairs and make sure the other rooms were in order when he heard Benson and Pops chatting in the kitchen. Curiosity peaked, he inched closer to listen. Eavesdropping usually wasn't his thing, but Benson had been acting somewhat strange lately and he wondered why.

"Are you quite sure about this, Benson?" Pops asked, seeming concerned.

"Pretty sure. I'm sorry to tell you this now and on good days, I do like this job, but I can't keep up with all the work anymore. I'm sure you've noticed it, right, Pops?"

"I didn't want to say anything, but yes," Pops said. "Mordecai and Rigby are around to help, though. Why don't you try to rely on them?"

"Or me," Skips muttered under his breath, still unsure of what was going on.

"That's the problem!" Benson let out a sigh. "Those slackers never do anything I tell them to! I know you hate it when I yell at them, so I try not to, but I can't do it!"

"I know, Benson. Last time I tried to get you to stay calm, you passed out and knocked your head on the sidewalk. You were in the hospital with a concussion," Pops took his top hat off solemnly. "I don't want such a thing to happen again."

"Sorry... Just give me a little while. A little while longer. I'll try to find one that works this time, okay?" Benson frowned. "I don't want to lose this job."

"Oh, of course. Take all the time that you need. I can run the park until you come back."

"Thanks, Pops," Benson leaned back in his chair, pulling his glasses off to rub the bridge of his nose. "I'll try not to let you down this time."

"Don't worry about that. One's health must always come before their job," Pops stood up and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Shall we take care of everything else now?"

"Yeah," Benson stood up as well and followed Pops out back.

Skips wondered what they were talking about, but when he heard the cart crash outside, he figured he'd better tend to that problem. So laying aside the Benson situation, he went back outside to check on Mordecai and Rigby, who had crashed the cart into a tree out front.

He sighed, rolling his eyes and pulling a few tools out of his belt. This was going to take his full attention after all.


	2. Coffee Break

**Hi guys, i'm here with another chapter! please review, it doesn't take long~ :)c**

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"Mordecai, Rigby, please pay attention; I've got an announcement," Pops said, sounding rather serious which was a big change in how he usually acted. Immediately, everyone quieted down.

They were all sitting down on the house stairs. Usually they met there in the mornings and Benson would assigns them their jobs for the day, but when he hadn't shown up, they'd all started chatting. "Maybe he's still sleeping," Fives had suggested.

"Or maybe he quit," Muscle man joked, but Skips worried that might have been the case. It wouldn't surprise him after the select bit of conversation he had heard last night.

Pops clapped his hands, "As you already realized, Benson is not here. He is taking a personal leave for a while to sort some things out."

"Personal leave? What does Benson have to sort out?" Rigby chuckled.

"Dude don't say that, what if, like, his dad died or something," Mordecai nudged him.

"For now I'll be giving you your jobs. Please proceed like usual," Pops said as he began to tell every park member what they would be doing for the day. Mordecai and Rigby leaned into a whisper and Skips wondered what they were talking about. He sincerely hoped that they weren't planning on something stupid or reckless, especially considering Benson wasn't around to tell them to get back to work or they'd be fired.

"You two better do your work today," Skips said.

"Oh, relax, dude," Mordecai said. "We'll get it done."

"Yeah, Skips. Chill out," Rigby scoffed.

Although they said that, Skips knew he would have to keep a close eye on them. There was never any telling what Mordecai and Rigby would do; what shenanigans they would get themselves into when they were alone. It would be best for everyone if he kept watch over them.

.000.

Benson stared at the ceiling in his bedroom. He'd been awake for nearly an hour, but he hadn't moved from his bed. He had pulled the blankets off at one point, but after had just laid like a starfish, letting out a sigh every now and then. He was tired. He was tired of everything.

Sometimes he would wonder to himself, what would happen if he died. He would have a small funeral. People that didn't care about him might show up and pretend they were the closest of friends. They might shed fake tears and try to make people feel bad for them while he was the one lying in the coffin. He thought that was almost reason enough never to think about it again, but he still did.

He didn't know what happened to people when they died. He didn't want to know, because if he did he might never want to die.

Benson didn't really mind not knowing things, contrary to popular belief. He wanted to know what Mordecai and Rigby were up to and if muscle man had stopped pranking Thomas, but he didn't really want to know much else. It was okay to be curious. Trying to come up with all the amazing answers to his questions was sometimes what he used to calm himself down amidst an anger breakdown.

His alarm clock went off and he knew. He knew that he needed to get up now. He let out a load groan and pushed himself into sitting position, pressing the snooze button before turning off the alarm. He got off the bed, looking around his bedroom. It was clean, organized just how he liked it to be.

He turned around and headed into the bathroom to take a shower and brush his teeth before he headed out. Out to another therapist. His sister had recommended this man to her and he thought it couldn't hurt to give it one more shot. But that was it. That was truly the last shot.

His sister used to tell him he wasn't going to get any better if he didn't think he was, but he would always just nod and say, "Maybe." She often said nothing after that.

After showering and getting dressed, he walked into the kitchen, cleaning his glasses and taking a bite of a granola bar. It was all he really had time for. Then, he brushed and flossed his teeth like every other morning. Every morning was the same.

He checked his voicemail. One new message. It was probably from his mom or something, he thought as he listened. "Hey, Benson, it's Audrey. I was just calling to see if you were still attending my party tonight. If not it's okay. I know you're going through some things. If you'd like, we can talk about it."

Benson sighed when the message finished. Of course he'd like to talk it all out, but it wasn't that easy, especially when Benson didn't even know what was wrong. So many bizarre things happened at the park, though, that he wouldn't be surprised if this sudden depression was because of some weird spell or because he'd done something wrong. Or Mordecai and Rigby. They seemed to be the cause of everything that went wrong around the park.

He couldn't blame them this time, though. He knew this was his own problem.

When he left the apartment, he climbed into his old car and turned on the engine. For a moment, he just stared out the window onto the road. So many people drove by, going to work, picking up groceries, driving their kids to school, he thought about how much he'd missed out.

Why couldn't he feel happy and content and be married and have a kid or two. He always dreamed he'd be one of those dads who would take their kid out and play baseball in the summer while his wife set up the picnic and then called them over. But he was older now and he thought it was probably too late for him. Although he was only thirty-five, he always had dark circles under his eyes and his moves were sluggish.

Often during his breaks he would sneak into Skips' and take naps on his couch, but it never really helped. It never helped because he told himself it wouldn't. He told himself it wouldn't because he was tired. He was tired of everything.

"I can't believe no one has murdered me yet," he mumbled, lighting a cigarette before driving off. He was annoying and he complained too much. He got mad too often and yelled at everyone so why was it that people still stood by him? He didn't know.

As he exhaled and the puff of smoke vanished around him, he turned a left and down a long street. He passed the park and for a moment, he glanced inside. He saw Pops with his sketchbook, drawing one of the flowers and Muscle man and Fives driving the cart back to the garage, but he didn't see Rigby or Mordecai. He thought that was for the best. If he saw them and they weren't doing their jobs, he might have to turn the car around and go inside just to yell at them.

He didn't want to start the day like that.


	3. Broken Melody

Benson shifted in his seat uncomfortably. The therapist was a young woman named Dr. Marsh. She couldn't have been much older than Benson, but he could tell that she took good care of herself. He tried not to look her in the eyes as she came back from the door and sat down.

"Good morning, Benson," she smiled. "Is it okay if I call you that?"

He shrugged, "I guess so."

"Okay. You can call me Alice, if you like," she told him. He assumed she wanted to break the Doctor-Patient barrier and start off being "friends." That was how all his other therapists had started their meetings. To be completely honest, Benson didn't like it. He didn't want them to be friends. He wasn't paying them to be friends. He was paying them to fix him. He realized that his mindset wasn't the best; that if he was a little more positive he might make a little more progress. He just couldn't help it.

"So, Benson, how are you feeling today?" she started off.

"I don't know," he replied. Not entirely because he didn't want to talk, but also because he really didn't know. He wasn't happy, but he didn't think he was quite miserable. "I'm alright."

"Just alright?"

"Well, I'm not happy or miserable...I'm just... alright."

"Okay," she marked something down on her clipboard. A clipboard that looked strikingly similar to his own back at the park in his office. Great, he thought, another reminder. He let out a small sigh, running a hand through his locks. What did he even want to do? He didn't want to go home, he didn't want to go back to work... He didn't want to be here.

"Is there something on your mind, Benson?"

"I don't like psychiatrists. No offense."

"And why is that?" she asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"I've been to many different ones already. None helped. Maybe I'm just incurable," he said, sitting back in the couch. He didn't want to think that there was no way to cure him. That would be like saying there was no light at the end of an extremely dark tunnel.

"Why do you think that?" she rested her chin on the back of her hand.

"Because I'm not close to recovering. I don't know what to do with myself. I don't know if I want to stay here or go somewhere else," he confessed the same confession he gave every psychiatrist. "I feel like I can't make my own choices anymore."

"Do you consider yourself confused?"

"Maybe. I don't know," he sighed. "I don't really want to talk about that."

"Okay, that's alright," she smiled again. "What would you like to talk about?"

"You're giving me the choice?"

"I want you to feel comfortable here. If there's something you don't want to talk about now, we can move on or address it at a later time. I don't want to make you feel pressured to answer any of my questions."

Benson shoved his hands in his pocket. That was what every other one of his therapists said. He didn't know whether or not he should believe her. "I don't know what to say," he mumbled.

"Is there someone in your life you consider close, perhaps?"

He thought for a moment. He had friends, he guessed, but none he considered really close. The only one that really popped out was Skips, but he'd really only argued with the man lately. "I wouldn't... say so..."

"You sound hesitant."

"Well, maybe there's one person, but lately we've been arguing a lot more."

"So, you used to be closer than you are now?"

"Yeah, I think so. I think it's mostly my fault, though. I get too mad."

"I see," she scribbled something else down on her clipboard. "And why do you think you get so mad?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. It's just how I am, I guess."

"So, you've never thought about fixing it? Is that not why you came to me?"

"No... Yes... Maybe," he sighed again. He was beginning to get frustrated. He didn't want to talk anymore. He didn't want to say anything wrong and have the therapist give him a look of pity like all the others did. "I don't want to answer that."

"Okay, that's alright," she said.

They talked back and forth for the rest of the hour, but Benson didn't think they made much progress. Mostly because he kept insisting he didn't want to answer half the questions she'd asked him. He got really angry about 3/4 of the way through and yelled at her, but she wasn't fazed. She probably got that a lot.

The very last thing she'd said to him was that maybe the reason he thought he wasn't getting better was that he didn't want to talk to someone unfamiliar. She said it should be easier for him to talk it out with someone close to him and visit her once a week to talk about everything else. "I do believe you will get better that way," she had said.

Benson wasn't so sure.

After the therapy session, he called his sister. She asked him how it went and he confessed it wasn't as bad as he thought. She wasn't quite as bad as the others he'd gone to and that he might visit her again. His sister seemed thrilled. Afterward he'd exchanged brief greetings to his mother and father and then hung up the phone.

By the time he was done his daily errands, driving around aimlessly and sitting in a park on the opposite side of town, it had gotten late. It was roughly 9 at night when he'd gotten back in his car to drive home. The town wasn't too big, so it didn't take him all that long, but he tried to go as slow as he could. He didn't want to be home. Home was where everything he didn't want to think of came rushing into his head at once. It sucked.

He parked his car and stepped outside, locking it and walking into the lobby of his apartment complex. He was far too tired to take the stairs like any normal human being, so he pressed the button for the elevator and waited for a quick moment before the doors opened and he walked inside with his head down, seemingly exhausted from doing nothing.

As the elevator rose a few levels and then stopped on his floor, he got out and slowly walked to his room. Another day the exact same as before. Another day gone by. He unlocked his door and stepped inside, not bothering to lock it again. He just wanted to brush his teeth and curl up into his bed. He wanted to dream of better things. Things that would maybe make him smile again.

It surprised him to notice that he couldn't remember the last time he'd really smiled. Like, r_eally_ smiled and really _meant_ it. Maybe a few years.

After he'd brushed his teeth he'd changed into his favorite pair of sweatpants and an old university sweater. They were the clothes he was most comfortable in, yet he wouldn't care let anyone in the park see him like that. He felt they wouldn't respect him if he dressed like he was going to sleep. But, then again, they didn't really respect him at all, did they?

He climbed into bed and settled down, sighing with relief as he laid his head on the pillow. Just as he was about to drift off to sleep, his phone rang. He didn't want to answer it. He really didn't want to answer it, but it could have been important, so he mustered up all the strength he had left and got back out of bed, rushing to the phone.

"Hello?" he knew he sounded exhausted.

"Benson," Skips said on the other line. "You sound horrible."

He sighed, grimly replying, "Thanks for noticing."

"I think we need to talk," Skips said. "I'm coming over."

"What?" Benson nearly yelled into the phone. "Don't come over. I'm about to go to sleep!"

But it was too late. Skips had already hung up the phone. Benson cursed under his breath. The other man could be so impulsive at times. It drove him crazy. And what could he possibly want to talk with him about? If it was park matters, he thought it would be better if he didn't hear it. He didn't want to make anything worse.

He sat back down on his bed, remembering he'd left the door unlocked. Maybe he could at least take a nap before Skips arrived. He laid his head down again, and again he sighed, closing his eyes.

Why did it feel like such a long day when he hadn't even really done anything. It wasn't a good feeling to feel so unaccomplished.


	4. This Man's Work

When Benson woke up, it was nearly midnight. He hadn't expected to sleep so long; hadn't even expected he would fall asleep. "Ungh," he mumbled, pushing himself up. His eyes felt like they were burning, but he couldn't fall back asleep after he'd just woken up. "Ah," he looked around. The room was dim, the only light was the moon shining through the curtains. Wasn't Skips supposed to be coming?

He slowly got out of bed, rubbing his eyes, desperately trying to make them burn less. He was so tired, so exhausted. He didn't want to get up, but if he'd kept the man waiting he'd probably feel like a worse person, so he felt his way around the room as his eyes adjusted. He didn't want to turn on the lights for fear it would make his eyes hurt even more.

He entered the living room and noticed a small lamp lighting the corner of the area. Beside that lamp was a body. Benson almost jumped out of his skin, letting out a loud gasp until he realized that the body was none other than Skips reading by the light of the lamp. "Skips?" he yelled. "What are you doing?"

"I didn't want to wake you," the man replied, finishing the last sentence of his chapter and then closing the book. "You were in such a deep sleep."

"You could have woken me up! How long have you been here?" he rubbed his eyes again. "Weren't you coming at nine? I was only supposed to take quick nap..."

"I don't mind. The door was open, so I checked on you," Skips said, standing up. "You were asleep, so I decided to wait for a little. I got caught up in the book instead."

"Only you," Benson sighed. Then, upon remembering why Skips had come in the first place, frowned. "Why are you here?" he meant to sound strict, but instead sounded far more threatened. Did Skips think he couldn't do his job? Was he here to check up on him and make sure he was still alive? Did he know about his situation? As these thoughts swarmed his head, he felt the color drain from his face and reached to hug himself.

"Relax, Benson," Skips crossed his muscular arms. His voice was calm and quiet and it made Benson feel a little better. But just a little. "I understand the situation a little better now since talking to Pops back at the park today."

"What?" Benson nearly snapped. He'd asked Pops? More importantly, Pops had _told him?_ Wasn't his situation supposed to be confidential? He should have been given that much. "Pops told you?" he could feel his cheeks heat up. He was getting more furious by the moment and he knew no matter what he wasn't going to be able to stop himself. "Doesn't my privacy mean anything anymore? Fuck," he yelled.

Skips didn't move from his spot. He seemed to be waiting for Benson to pipe down, but once he realized that wasn't going to happen, he made a move. "Hey," he said softly, "Just listen to me."

"No, fuck!" Benson turned back around and started yelling about how much he hated everything when Skips saw this as an opportunity. He quickly stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Benson from behind. He felt the redhead tense up, but that was okay. It was okay as long as Benson was still, quiet and not able to hurt himself in his rage. Especially lately, Skips had noticed Benson become so infuriated that he would literally knock himself out doing something stupid. Skips hated to be the one to run over and make sure he was still breathing. He had nearly fainted from worry himself a few times. To top it all off, Benson's terrible smoking habit had popped back up.

When Benson had become so enraged at Mordecai and Rigby one day, it was like he'd completely lost control of himself. His eyes had become red and so full of tears that Skips wondered if he could see his surroundings. He'd screamed so much that he'd lost his voice and when Mordecai and Rigby had finally had enough, Skips went in to help. He told them to get out of here, that them being around would only make it worse. They happily obliged and Skips proceeded to try and calm their manager down. Benson was so full of tears that it almost pained Skips to watch him. Why was he so mad, Skips still didn't know, but if it was Mordecai and Rigby he thought he had the right to be.

So he had pulled the shorter man close and hugged him tightly in attempt to calm him down. He was surprised to find that within a matter of minutes, the redhead's loud cries had turned into nothing more than quiet sobs.

When he noticed the same thing happening right then, he relaxed his hold on the other. It embarrassed Benson to think he'd become so relaxed when Skips held him. He didn't ever want to think it meant something more, but the possibility was being shoved into his face every time he erupted. He thought, "If only Skips was here" and realized it must have meant more than he thought it did.

"Are you okay?" Skips asked in that same gravelly voice.

"Yeah," Benson replied awkwardly as the tall man let go.

"Are you ready to listen to me?" he asked again.

Benson sighed but nodded nonetheless and Skips began to speak.

"Don't get mad again, but I overheard you and Pops talking about your situation. I brought it up to him today and he told me everything."

"So you were eavesdropping?" Benson tried not to yell as he turned back around to face Skips.

Skips shrugged. Everyone in the park had him pegged as this mature, godlike figure, but Benson knew. He knew how much of a little shit Skips could be compared to the others. "The point is, now that I know, I wanna help you."

"Help me? You think you can help me?" Benson gestured to himself. "No one can help me."

"If you keep thinking like that, you'll be right."

Benson sighed angrily, rubbing his head. There was this living, breathing cure to his anger right in front of him and he was pushing him away. Well, although he was less of a definite cure and more like a medication, Skips did help. Just being around him helped. On days he had no energy to yell at the park employees, Skips took care of that for him. On days he was too tired to deal out chores, Skips took over. For moments he just wanted a coffee, there Skips was, mug in hand.

He hated to admit that he did rely on the man. He just wondered when it was too much to rely on one person. He didn't want to put all his trust and faith into someone only to have them let him down. It always happened to him. Constantly.

"I have a therapist," Benson said. It was his way of saying he didn't need any more help, even though he was lying. He figured Skips could probably tell and would ask him again.

"It's okay to rely on more than one person," Skips said.

Maybe, Benson wondered to himself, it was okay. Maybe it really would be okay for Skips to help him out. His therapist did say that it would be a good thing. He didn't want to feel like he was being pitied, though, and when it all came down to it... that was probably what scared him the most.


	5. Regret

**Eep! sorry this took so long! t'is the month of exams, but i've finally finished schooool aw yeah.**

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One restless night later and it was morning. After their small argument last night, Skips had left for his own home, but they hadn't parted on bad terms, Benson thought. There was a silent agreement that Skips would do all he could to help out, even if it meant getting no sleep, he'd said. Benson argued that he was being ridiculous; that he wouldn't need to be there every waking moment of the day. It would be nice to know that he could call him if he needed something, though, and that was what they'd agreed on. Although Skips knew Benson was not one to readily ask for help so the older man had said he would pop in on occasion.

Benson didn't quite know how he felt about this new setup. It did feel nice to know someone would be there for him without being paid to be.

He got out of his bed and checked the time. It was one in the afternoon. By this time the park employees would have already started carrying out their daily duties, save Mordecai and Rigby. He just hoped they were staying out of trouble. He could deal with a few unraked leaves over another broken cart any day.

When he'd opened the blinds that morning, the sun still looked bleak to him. He sat down at his kitchen table and his food still didn't taste as good. His clothes still didn't feel as comfortable and when he attempted to smile in front of the mirror, he ended up looking like he'd just gotten a filling. But even though he knew all this was happening around him, he thought at least, for once he was ready to change it.

He remembered what Skips told him once. "If you feel like you're life is deadbeat, it's not too late to start over." He realized that, while yes, this was true, that didn't mean it was easy. Starting over was just as hard as beginning.

He made a face at his mirror, taking his glasses off to get a better look at his eyes. They were still pretty red and the circles under his eyes were starting to look as dark as Rigby's. He shuddered thinking about it. That was one of the last things he wanted.

He quickly pulled on his shoes after his daily routine, leaving the house in just a t-shirt. It was summer after all, and summer's were warm there.

"Benson!" a cheerful voice greeted him when he'd stepped outside.

"Oh, hey, Audrey," Benson said, trying to smile. He figured he probably just looked like he'd smelled something bad instead. He sighed, rubbing his eyes.

"How are you feeling?" she toned down her voice.

"I'm alright," he replied. He didn't really feel like talking to her at the moment, not that he didn't enjoy her company when he was happier.

"Ah," she nodded. "Well, it's good to see you out and about."

"Yeah... I thought I'd go for a walk."

"Oh, it's perfect weather for a walk," she smiled. "I hope you have a good one."

"Yeah, thanks. I'll see you later," he gave her a small wave and continued down the hallway. She was probably watching him, frowning and realizing that, no, he wasn't alright. But that was okay, he was working on it, wasn't he? After all, he'd made the conscious decision to allow Skips to check up on him; he was visiting a therapist. He was taking steps.

He took the stairs instead this time. Although he was thin, he didn't often work out and he drank too much coffee. His therapist told him that exercise is key to being healthy and that he should try to work in an hour or so a day.

"Physical exercise increases blood flow to the brain," she had said. "And blood delivers nutrients and oxygen." She spoke a lot more about how that may have been a large part of why exercise increases cognitive function, but Benson had zoned out about half way through.

When he was outside, he jogged over to the sidewalk and began his walk. The sun was shining brightly down on him and he'd almost wished he'd brought a hat, but it was too late to go back now. He continued along the sidewalk until he'd come dangerously close to the park. His curiosity was eating away at him, but he knew if he looked and saw something he didn't like, he'd just cause more pain for himself. He'd tried really hard, but he couldn't resist a peek from behind the fence. He didn't see much. The place looked rather clean, much to his surprise.

Nobody was around except Pops, who was once again, sketching some flowers. He let a sigh escape his lips until he heard an all too familiar voice. "Benson, what are you doing here?"

"Shit," he turned around to face Skips, who was carrying bags of groceries, probably to load the house.

"You're supposed to be relaxing away from this place," Skips said.

"I know," Benson mumbled. "I was curious."

"Curiosity isn't a valid excuse. If you saw something that made you angry, there's no telling what would happen."

"Hey!" Benson snapped, "Don't act like I'm some bratty little kid!"

"I'm not."

The redhead rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Alright, fine, I'm leaving."

"Wait," Skips stopped him.

"What?" he muttered.

"I'm going on lunch break. Let's eat together. Just let me put these groceries away."

"But-" Benson was about to protest until his stomach began growling. He guessed that half bowl of cereal he ate that morning wasn't enough. "...Alright."

Skips smiled momentarily, "I'll be right back." He then proceeded to walk toward the house and unload the groceries into the fridge and cupboards.

"Dude, Skips," he heard Mordecai behind him. "Is that Benson out there?" he was peering through the window.

"Yeah, it is Benson," Rigby added.

"So?" Skips said.

"What's he doing here?" Mordecai asked.

"We're about to go eat lunch."

"Yeah, but is he cool? Is he coming back?" Rigby was sitting on the counter, swinging his legs back and forth. "We kind of heard a bit of the story from Pops."

"Yeah..." Mordecai mumbled. "I think we probably forced it out of him with our constant asking. We weren't supposed to tell anyone we knew, but you probably already do, right?"

Skips sighed, rubbing his forehead. These two could be a bit too curious for their own good.

"I feel kind of bad," Rigby was frowning. Wait, Rigby was frowning _and_ saying he felt bad? Skips thought he was imaging it. "I mean, we put him through a lot of shit by not doing anything we were supposed to."

"Yeah... I can't help but feel like maybe we're part of the cause," Mordecai said.

"Look, don't blame yourselves," Skips said. "He's just dealing with some stuff. It isn't your fault."

"Yeah, but... how can you be sure?" Rigby mumbled.

"I just am," Skips replied. "Don't dwell on it. Just do what you normally do, but maybe start to do your jobs better now. Alright?"

"Yeah alright," Rigby hopped off the counter.

"Could you tell him we're sorry, though?" Mordecai added before they left. "I guess that'd mean he knows we know, but I just kind of want to make sure the air is clear."

Skips nodded slowly, "I'll give him the message."


	6. You and I

"Mordecai and Rigby wanted me to tell ya they're sorry," Skips said.

"Sorry for what?" Benson grumbled, "being useless excuses for employees?"

"More or less."

"Why?" Benson doubted they'd suddenly turned a good leaf, but he didn't want to believe they could possibly know what he was dealing with. How could they know such a thing?

Skips shrugged, "I think they're started to figure it out."

"Fuck," Benson hissed, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Just what he needed, everyone to know about all his problems. Perfect! Why didn't they just broadcast it to the whole world? He was about to pull one out when Skips snatched the pack away, shoving it in his own pocket. "Hey!" Benson yelled. He was not in the mood for this. Not now.

"You gotta stop smoking," Skips said.

"I don't care, just give it back!"

"I'm not givin' it back to you so I can watch you smoke in front of me. I won't watch you throw away your health anymore."

"Doesn't it occur to you that I don't care about my health? Fuck, Skips, I _don't __**care**__! _If I die right now, then wonderful, that's just fantastic. I couldn't care less!" he didn't think that was true. He would care if he died right then. He was sure there were thousands of things he'd regret not doing before his death, but once he'd started yelling, he couldn't stop. "In fact, why don't I just go stand in the middle of the street and wait for a car to run me over! Or better yet, a truck! That way I can make sure I actually die!" he was about ready to storm off when Skips grabbed his arm, glancing at the few people who's started to stare. Ignoring them, he began to drag Benson back down the sidewalk, much to the redhead's protests.

Skips was a lot more intuitive than he often got credit for. Of course he knew Benson was just blowing off steam. After a few moments of walking down the sidewalk, Benson's yelling died down yet again until he was just mumbling a few curses now and then.

Skips directed him to a free table outside a small cafe. "Wait here," he said, quickly disappearing inside to grab some drinks. Benson let out a long sigh, rubbing his head. He'd made a completely idiot out of himself back there. He knew he agreed to let Skips help out, but it didn't really seem like it. It was almost like he forgot. He couldn't stop himself. No matter how many times he screamed to let the world take him out, he didn't really want out. There was too much he still wanted to do, too many people he still wanted to say things to.

Moments later, Skips returned with two cups of coffee. He set one in front of Benson and gave the man a quick glance to see where his temperament was. "Sorry," he mumbled, picking up the cup of coffee and taking a sip. It was much better than the coffee he'd been drinking at home.

Skips only shrugged. "Let me ask you something."

"What?" Benson put down the cup and stared at him.

"What do you think the best reason to live for is?"

He was startled. He didn't expect to be answering a question like that. "I... don't know?"

"Just think about it for a minute."

So he did. He thought hard for a while, but Skips was content waiting, sipping from his coffee. Nearly ten minutes later, Benson answered. "Maybe... love? I don't fucking know. That sounds cheesy, but what else is there? I wouldn't say money or anything."

"Hm," Skips nodded, taking in this new information.

"Why did you ask me that anyway?" Benson asked.

"I thought if I found what you'd want to live for, I'd help you try and get there."

"W-what, that's stupid," Benson mumbled. "I'm not going to kill myself," he picked up the cup of coffee and stared at its contents. "I've thought about it for a while, actually. I can't stop myself from acting like a complete idiot when I get angry and sometimes I say stuff, more often than not, that I don't really mean. Truth is, I don't really want to die. Sometimes I just get so upset that it's all I can think about, though. I get that sort of mindset where everything would be easier if I was gone because I would have nothing more to worry about, but even then... I get scared." If it was anyone else, Benson would never speak about his feelings in such a manner, but Skips had an inviting personality it was hard to stop yourself once you got talking. "Like, what if I did die by my own hands," he set down the cup and stared at his palms. "Would I go somewhere different than the people that died from natural causes? Would I go somewhere worse? I can't help but think I might."

"Why would you figure that?"

"Because, it just seems rational to me! Plus, I don't know anything about death. It's like an enigma. Nobody knows what happens after you die or where you go. It... scares me. I don't care if that's weird."

"Hm," Skips mused. "It's not weird. It's perfectly normal to be scared of dying, but you still got a long life ahead of you. Once you realize that, you can let the fear lift."

"Yeah, but that won't lift my depression."

"No, but you're going to therapy, aren't you? I'm sure that will help you and I'm here for you too," Skips said. "I don't want you to disappear either."

Benson felt himself start to smile. After all, it really did feel good to be cared about. "Yeah... thanks," he ran a hand through his hair. "You're a good friend, Skips."

He chuckled, "Thanks. Will you start talking to me now, if you have a problem? Remember, I don't care if it's at three in the morning or ten at night, if you need something, I'll be right over."

Benson really did wonder why he went to such lengths, but he truly was thankful for it and it was about time he started to pave his road to recovery himself. "Okay, I will."

"Promise?"

"Yeah, I promise."


	7. Believe in You

Benson swung his legs back and forth, staring out the window of his apartment. "Hm," he mused, wondering what he should do. It had been two days since he'd had that little chat with Skips and he had to admit, his therapist was right. Talking to a friend does help. He couldn't help wonder if Skips was bothered by it. Even though he said it was fine numerous times...

He sighed, shaking his head. He really had to stop thinking about it or he was going to convince himself of something that wasn't true. He stood up and walked over to the window. There was the park. He could see it clear as day. Everything seemed normal; everything seemed okay. Maybe for once he could actually believe Mordecai and Rigby.

Although this free time was nice for the first few days, it was beginning to get hard to fill the day. He got bored so often and it was times like those that strange thoughts enveloped him. He groaned, rubbing his forehead, "No. Don't think about it. You're fine. You're making progress."

A knock from the door forced him to leave the window and see who it was. He guessed it was probably his sister since he'd left his apartment key when he'd last visited. She'd told him she'd return it as soon as she could.

"Benson," she dangled the key in her hand, "Here you go."

"Thanks," he took it from her and tossed it on the counter.

"So, how are you?" she walked inside. "I mean, how's everything going? You seem a lot better than you did a little while ago, so I presume the therapy is going alright?"

"I guess," he rubbed his head. He didn't really want to talk about it.

As if sensing that, his sister changed the subject, "You thinking about going back to work soon?"

"Actually, I have been thinking about it. Just having something to think about seems like it'll be easier on me. Work would help with that."

"But what if you get too stressed?"

"If they understand my situation... then maybe I can just leave. I am the park manager."

"I suppose... Just take care of yourself, alright?"

"I'm working on it," he replied.

"Well, I'd better get going. I've got to do some shopping. I'll see you around, right?" she headed toward the door, giving him a worried look when he didn't respond as fast as she wanted him to.

"Yes, you will," he said. "Go on, I'll be fine, okay?"

She sighed, "Okay. Goodbye, Bro."

About a half hour after she left, Benson did as well. Grabbing a sweater and his keys, he headed down to the lobby of the apartment and got into his car. He sat there for a while, hoping nobody would make him uncomfortable at the park, since it seemed as if every fucking human who worked there now knew.

He drove down the street to the park. It took him only minutes, but he didn't quite feel like walking that day. It looked like it might rain, too. He quickly parked his car and got out, entering the gates. Nobody was around. "Well, I guess it's break time," he checked his watch. He imagined Mordecai and Rigby were probably inside playing video games. Muscle man and Fives were probably on the computer. Skips working on a car, Thomas was probably with either Muscle man's group or Mordecai's. He shrugged. Everyone was probably doing something.

As he approached the door, he began to get nervous. His heart began to beat faster and he reached in his pocket for his cigarette pack only to remember Skips had confiscated it. "Damn it," he hissed. In the heat of the moment, he pushed the door open, not intending to slam it but having it slam anyway.

Mordecai and Rigby jumped in the living room. "B-Benson?" Mordecai nearly yelled. "What are you doing here?"

Finding them doing exactly what he expected them to was almost relieving. It was normal, it was comforting. It was home. Yes, he didn't belong at his apartment all day long. So what if he was having a hard time? Being surrounded by friends (yes, he had come to consider the annoying duo as friends) was much better. "Sorry for startling you," he coughed awkwardly.

"No, it's totally cool," Mordecai waved his arms in front of himself. Rigby nodded.

"We were just surprised to see you here is all," Rigby said.

Benson sighed, but it wasn't an aggravated one. "Yeah, I bet... But I'm back."

"For good?" Rigby asked.

"I guess," Benson replied, not really thinking about it. "I'd better talk to Pops."

"Oh, okay!" Mordecai said. "But it's good to have you back, man."

"Yeah," Rigby nodded.

"Thanks," Benson rubbed his head. He wasn't used to hearing these kinds of things from them. It made him feel better about his choice to come back though. "It's nice to see you two again as well."

They gave him goofy smiles before he retreated to the upstairs hallway to go find Pops. He found him within minutes in his office. He gave the open door a small knock to get his attention.

"Benson!" Pops laughed that familiar laugh.

"Hi, Pops," he waved.

"Why, what on earth are you doing here? This is quite the surprise!"

"Yeah," he mumbled. "I was thinking of coming back."

"Oh?" Pops seemed confused.

"Yeah... I mean I know I was taking some time off, but to tell you the truth, I think I'm better off here. When I step into this house, it feels like home. It feels more like home than my own apartment does. Days and nights there just feels cold now," he sighed. "I just think I need to be back here right now."

"I see," Pops mused over the thought. "If that's what you think, then I encourage you to come back. We all do miss you, after all."

Benson chuckled softly, "Thanks for saying so. But.. do you mind if I start again tomorrow?"

"Of course not, take your time, Benson," Pops smiled.

"Thanks again," Benson excused himself. He walked back down the stairs, careful not to disturb Mordecai and Rigby's game. He didn't want to talk to them all that much again. He felt it would just be awkward. No, he was going to find Skips. He wanted to ask him what he thought about all this.

No matter what, Benson figured he'd be supportive.


	8. Seize the Light

**Zee Finale. Hey. Lol. Cries. You guys are cool for sticking with me because I know i've been a giant pain. Truthfully this one wasn't too fun to write. I dunno what it was. :\ But anyway! It's done! ^^**

* * *

Skips didn't say anything for a long time.

They were seated across from each other on a couch in his room. Benson was fiddling with the sleeves of his shirt and Skips seemed to be considering something. When he finally did speak up, it wasn't what Benson expected. "Okay. I can accept that you're better off here. With friends. I think that's pretty reasonable."

"Really?" Benson gave him a strange look.

Skips nodded, "I think that you're taking another step forward and that's good."

"Huh, I didn't think about it like that," he rubbed his head.

Skips smiled, "You're coming back tomorrow?"

Benson nodded, "Yeah, I guess so... I don't know, this whole thing seems so embarrassingly stupid to me. Like, am I really stupid enough to take my own life knowing all that's out there for me? I guess, but I think I'm also pretty strong for not doing it. I feel like I just want to put this entire thing behind me and never think about it again, but I know it'll still be there at the back of my head," he let out a sad chuckle. "It sucks, but at the same time, it's like a reminder of what I've done. What I've accomplished, you know?"

Skips nodded, "It sounds like you've made up your mind."

"Yeah. I'm not going to torture myself anymore. It's been a long time coming, but recently I've started to open my eyes again. If other people can be strong, then why can't I, right?"

Skips nodded, "Absolutely."

"Anyway, I guess I just really wanted to come down here for your approval. I know that might sound weird, but I do admire all that you do, so you approval does mean a lot to me."

"Well, thank you," Skips chuckled. "I must say though, you don't need anyone's approval to do something. If it feels right or good to you, just go for it. You know I'll stick with you either way, don't you?"

Benson leaned back in the couch, "Yeah, I kind of had a feeling you might say something like that. Thanks, though. You always know what to say." He stood up. "I guess I'll be heading back home now, though."

"Before you go," Skips stood up, "Do you want to meet up for lunch tomorrow?"

"On our breaks?" Benson asked.

"Yeah."

"Ah, sure, I'd like that," he smiled and Skips returned it. "See you then."

And with that, Benson was gone and Skips was alone in his room. He sat down briefly, contemplating the conversation. He was happy Benson seemed to be doing better, but he didn't want to relax around him. There was always the chance, the possibility he might do something drastic.

He sighed when he realized he didn't trust the redhead with his own life. He wouldn't say that was being a bad friend. On the contrary, he was being a good friend. He was watching out for Benson. something he didn't quite do for anyone else. Or rather, he never went to such great lengths. In the back of his mind he knew why, though. He cared about Benson. A lot. More than anyone he'd known. More than the woman he'd cared for so long ago. It surprised him to think there was someone he cared for more than her, but he thought that was okay. People must move on to grow, after all.

He'd never thought of telling Benson such a thing though. The hotheaded manager seemed to be fine with them being friends and he didn't want to ruin it. For now, he decided, he would just go with the flow.

.000.

The next morning Benson returned to work. Clipboard in hand, he entered the house and took a deep breath. He was the first one there and awake as usual, just how he liked it. Mordecai and Rigby were probably still sleeping in their room, but for once, Benson decided not to wake them. If they had set their alarms, that would be great, but there wasn't much work to be done today, so he decided it would be fine for them to sleep in a little longer.

He lifted his head. There was a delicious aroma coming from the kitchen. He wondered how that was possible. He thought he was the first up? He carefully walked into the kitchen only to see Mordecai and Rigby at the stove, much to his great surprise. He nearly jumped, dropping his clipboard.

The two turned around, noticing the sound. "Benson!" Mordecai grinned. "Welcome back."

"Welcome back!" Rigby said shortly after.

"What are... You're awake?" Benson asked, eyes still noticeably wide.

Mordecai chuckled, "Yeah. We owed you, you know. We're making your favorite pancakes."

Benson didn't know what to do. He was so surprised that all he could think to do was laugh. "Wow... I really wasn't expecting this. Thanks, guys. It means a lot to me."

"Well, we'll let you off easy after all we've put you through. When you're on your toes again, don't expect us to be so chill!" Mordecai chuckled again.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Benson replied.

Soon after, the rest of the house joined them. Muscle Man and Fives came in through the front door, Pops floated in out of nowhere, Thomas popped in bright and early and lastly, Skips entered. They all took seats in various places around the kitchen and ate breakfast together. Benson thought about how nice it was like this. Part of him wished it would stay like this, but the other part realized how unnatural it would be. No, he would often prefer his quiet mornings alone, but this wasn't so bad every so often. Not at all. It really was just like having a normal family.

After breakfast, everyone dispersed when Benson told them their jobs for the day. He walked over to Skips, "And here's your schedule."

"Thanks," he said. "I'll get to work."

"Yeah, same," Benson replied, giving Skips a pat on the shoulder before retreating to his office. The rest of the morning went relatively normally. Everyone did their jobs, they joked to each other, they slacked off a bit but not too much and then lunch break came. Mordecai, Rigby and Thomas ran to play video games. Muscle Man and High-Five retreated to watch TV in the trailer and Pops ate his lunch in the garden as he sketched a rose.

Benson hadn't noticed the time pass. The only reason he realized it was lunch was because Skips came to fetch him. He knocked on the door to Benson's office and the redhead looked up, "What's up?"

"It's lunch time."

Benson checked the clock, "Already?"

Skips chuckled, "Yeah."

"Wow..." he put down the papers he was holding and pushed himself up. "That went by fast."

"I think that'd a good sign."

"I think so too."

"So, you ready?"

"Yeah, but first, can I just... try something?"

Skips raised an eyebrow, "Hm?"

Benson walked over to him, "I don't... Well, you'll probably think this is weird. I'm weird, whatever, I don't care. I just. Need to test something."

"Alright," Skips said, still unsure of what the man was hinting at, but all his questions were answered when Benson pulled the taller man down into a kiss. Almost as quickly as it had started, it ended. Benson quickly turned around, his cheeks turning a faint pink.

"...What..." Skips couldn't even form a coherent sentence. He was shocked. Very shocked, but he was shocked in the absolutely best way there is.

"You know when you asked me what something to live for was?"

"Y..yeah."

"And I said love?"

Skips nodded, "Yeah."

"Well, to tell you the truth, I was kind of thinking about you. I mean, you've always been there for me. It just took me a little while to realize. I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable or if you think I'm weird and want to stop talking to me. I guess I'll unders-" he was interrupted when Skips pulled him around to face him.

"There's no way I could stop talking to you. No, I feel the same way."

"What?" Benson's cheeks were bright red.

Skips only nodded. "Hard as it may be to believe, I do. I've gotten rather good at hiding my feelings."

"I'll say..."

Skips bent down at pressed his lips to Benson's forehead. The bespectacled man smiled softly. That is what they say, he thought, that love is the greatest thing to live for.

"Now all that's left is to work on your smoking habit."

"Hey. Don't push it," Benson said, despite the grin he was wearing.

"Alright, alright," Skips smiled. He could wait. Benson wasn't entirely stable, but Skips was fine with that. He was fine with waiting. He was fine with being called on at 4AM. He was completely fine with having to do extra work until boss was at his best. He was fine because it was love. And with love sometimes you need to take things slow, because there's much to view in this beautiful world.

One step at a time.


End file.
